


Hymenated - Werewolves

by forlovedones



Series: The Hymenated Series [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean Winchester, Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, Episode: s12e16 Ladies Drink Free, F/M, First Time, Genderbending, Genderswap, Hermaphrodites, M/M, Re-Hymenated Dean Winchester, Season/Series 12, Vaginal Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forlovedones/pseuds/forlovedones
Summary: What if the bartender werewolf from the Claire and Mick episode was after guys, not girls? (S12e16)Or, a short story where I over explore the Men of Letters book ‘He-wolf, She-wolf: A Study in Werewolf Transgenderism.'Teaser:Dean was pacing inside Claire's one-star motel room with a huge bandage over the bite on his neck.“Dean,” Sam tried placatingly, “it's okay. You can live with this, remember? Like Garth.”“Yeah… yeah.” Dean paced the length of the room again, sighed through his nose, then turned and punched the fridge. It dented, deep, but Sam was pretty sure that was just Dean, not some werewolf super strength.(Part of a series of one-shots with a common theme, written because I have a very specific kink: canon-compliant Winchesters with magical girl bits. No boobs, no cross dressing, just the lower fun parts. ... Yes I am ashamed. Enjoy! :D)





	Hymenated - Werewolves

Dean was pacing inside Claire's one-star motel room with a huge bandage over the bite on his neck.

“Dean,” Sam tried placatingly, “it's okay. You can live with this, remember? Like Garth.”

“Yeah… yeah.” Dean paced the length of the room again, sighed through his nose, then turned and punched the fridge. It dented, deep, but Sam was pretty sure that was just Dean, not some werewolf super strength.

If only Sam had been there.

\---

Two hours earlier, Sam and Mick had been on their way to the bar where the siblings had been attacked, while Dean and Claire went to talk with Ben's friend. Dean was better with Claire anyway... the idea had been that maybe he’d be able to get her to open up while Sam babysat the newbie.

Sam knew Dean was shoving Mick on him on purpose, like it was his fault they were involved with the British Men of Letters at all. Which… maybe it was.

Whatever. There were more pressing issues right now, like tracking down the werewolf that had killed a teenage girl.

Sam had seen the coroner's photos: Hayden Foster, eighteen years old, covered in scratches, heart missing. An obvious werewolf attack. And her brother Ben turned into one of them moments before his own death in that hospital.

The nice female bartender directed them to a tattooed guy named Connor, a skeeve who said some inappropriate things about young boys. But he wasn't their wolf… he pocketed the silver dollar Sam had ‘accidentally dropped’ without a flinch.

They had a minute outside for Sam to suss out that Mick was the one who killed Ben in the hospital. Sam shouldn’t have been as shocked as he was. He should have known better. He never should have trusted Mick at all, and now a boy was dead.

Then Sam got Claire's call.

\---

Claire was crouched in a wooden armchair, trying not to cry. “Dean. Dean I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, I-”

“It’s not your fault, Claire,” Dean growled.

“But I ran off, and then that werewolf, she attacked you and I just…” She choked. “I was your partner, I-I should have been there.”

“No Claire, he’s right. It isn’t your fault.” Sam sat across from her and made her make eye contact. “It’s just… the job. Right?”

She sniffed wetly and nodded.

Sam looked at his brother. “Besides… Dean already eats so much red meat, this will hardly make a difference.”

Dean snorted. “Shut up Sam.” He paced the room again, then looked out the window. “How much longer?”

“The full moon rises in less than an hour,” Mick answered.

Dean turned around, but didn’t look at Mick or Claire. He looked at Sam. “Well. It can’t be worse than the Mark, right?”

Sam couldn’t smile back. Why was it always Dean?

\---

Mick was the one who brought up the idea of a cure.

Sam was dead set against it.

“Dean, come on-”

“Sam.”

Sam tried to get Dean to listen, just this once. “I read the research he’s talking about, Dean – it’s suicide. They haven’t even gotten past animal testing! And the one human they did test on died. Died, Dean!”

“Look I’m not saying it isn’t a long shot-” Mick pitched in.

Sam turned in a rage and pushed the British Man of Code-Approved Murder back with one hand. It was shamefully easy. Sam didn’t feel like pulling punches. “You stay out of this. You murdered Ben Foster. If you have so much faith in this cure, what about the teenage boy you killed last night huh?” Sam pushed him again.

Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “Sam-”

Sam turned on him next. “No, Dean! Don’t you get it? He’s just trying to get another werewolf kill notched on his belt!”

“Sammy, listen-”

“Besides, you don’t need it! You have more than enough- enough willpower to live with this!”

“That’s not the point!” Dean cut him off with his drill sergeant growl. Then he gentled. “Sam. If we can find a cure, a real cure… that’s a game changer. For the whole world. For the next Ben. For the next Madison.”

He would bring her up.

Sam could feel the fight draining out of him. He tried to cling to it. “But Dean…”

“I’m doing this. We’re doing this.” Dean turned to Mick. “What do we need?”

\---

They needed blood from the werewolf that bit him for the cure. The problem was they still had no idea where to find it. It was a woman in a ski-mask that attacked Dean so Claire and Sam left to try and find that female bartender, the only female involved with the case that they could think of other than Mrs. Foster.

They struck out. She was nowhere to be found, not at the bar or at the address listed on her W-2. And they had no one left to ask. Sam watched to moon rising with apprehension. They decided to regroup and try again in the morning.

And came back in time to see the motel room in ruins.

The bartender, with wolf claws and teeth, was out cold in a corner; maybe unconscious, maybe dead. Dean was on top of Mick, his eyes yellow and claws out, growling deeper than would be possible if he was still human. He had one clawed hand raised, seconds from tearing out the Brit's heart.

Sam honestly couldn't care less about Mick’s life at this point, but he wasn't letting Dean feed. He threw himself bodily at his brother and knocked him off. The Brit rolled over, injured but alive. “Claire! Get Mick!”

Dean was on all fours, hands and feet, growling and mindless. Sam pocketed his gun. He wasn't shooting his brother. “Dean. Dean, it's Sam. Come on man, you can control this!”

“Sam!” Claire stage whispered, her gun still out.

Sam glanced at her. “Claire. Mick. _Now._ ” He left no room for argument. Claire got the Brit up and out the door, but not before Dean took another run at them. Sam slammed into Dean’s side and the two of them tumbled into the kitchenette, knocking a cupboard clean off the wall. He wrestled to get his hands on Dean's wrists, keeping those claws at bay.

It was like wrestling a bear, or a demon. Dean got the upper hand and slammed Sam into the fridge. Sam could see Claire over Dean's shoulder, pulling the unmoving werewolf bartender out now. What? Why?

Oh right. The cure. The spell needed live sire blood… Sam actually kind of hoped the wolf was dead. Better Dean as a werewolf than dead from some crack 10% chance British cure.

No time for that. He got his knee up and shoved Dean off him. Where were the shackles? They'd left them here. Dean should have been wearing them already.

He didn't find them. Dean was on him again, this time slamming Sam's head against the fridge door, leaving another dent. Sam slumped to his knees, his strength leaving him, barely holding on to consciousness. Dean was a dark shape over him. He felt claws digging into his shoulders as Dean grabbed him and lifted him up like he weighed nothing. Sam tasted blood.

“Dean…” he moaned weakly. “It's me… wake up, moron…”

One of the clawed hands dragged painfully from his left shoulder down to his chest, over his heart, leaving long scratches in his flesh. Dean leaned in, his new teeth inches from Sam's throat.

This was it. This was how it ended. Sam just hoped Dean wouldn't blame himself too much when he woke up from this. He wanted to have to wait a good long time alone in The Empty before Dean joined him.

Didn’t sound too bad. The Empty with Dean, forever. Better than Hell. Worse than Heaven, but not by much. Or would Dean go to Purgatory now? Better not, never again, not without Sam.

Moments passed. “Dean,” Sam said softly, cautiously. Dean leaned in closer, and Sam flinched when Dean’s nose pushed in behind his ear. It was cold. He felt a small rush of wind as Dean breathed in deep, filling his lungs.

Was Dean… smelling him?

The clawed hand on Sam’s right shoulder retracted out of his skin and slid smoothly down his arm, almost comforting. Sam settled back on his own feet. He tightened his muscles, trying to ready himself for another fight, but Dean gripped him harder and held him still.

“Dean?”

Dean huffed and brought both hands up to Sam’s face, carding his fingers into Sam’s hair. Dean had never done that before. He’d ruffled it, mussed it, tugged it teasingly, but he’d never… never. Then Dean stepped that last inch forward into Sam’s space, flush along Sam’s front, and Sam felt something down in the belt region he hadn’t expected. Something bulging. And hot.

That woman, the werewolf. She’d been hunting men. Killing girls, and biting boys.

And Mick’s Hogwarts werewolf books had said that full moons might mean something else for certain werewolf bloodlines. Something more… primal.

Thank god Claire had left.

“Woah – Dean, personal space buddy – no chicks here, just your brother okay?” He tried to sidestep away. Dean growled and leaned in harder, pinning Sam to the fridge door with his crotch. Sam winced. “Dude we’ve talked about this! Reality, not porn! Reality!”

It didn’t seem to make any difference. Dean kept him pinned and started kneading his claws in Sam’s hair. Like a cat. And rubbing–humping–other areas like a dog. Then he licked Sam’s ear and that was it. “Woah okay, no no no-” Sam heaved himself forward and threw the werewolf off. Dean bounced back a few steps and Sam circled away. He held up both hands placatingly. “Dean. Bad dog. I mean it. TMI, man.”

Dean’s yellow eyes were no longer aggressive. They were calculating as he watched Sam’s face. He was bodily sniffing the air, and licked his lower lip with a feral grin.

“Dean,” Sam warned, pointing at him. “No. I mean it Dean. No!”

Dean was on him in two steps. Sam tried to backpedal but lost his footing on the broken cabinet and fell to the floor, Dean on top of him. By the time he got wind back in his lungs Dean was stretched out over him, thighs on either side of Sam’s hips, hands back in his hair, nose back in his ear. Sam tried to shove and roll, but Dean got both Sam's hands and pinned them above his head.

Then Dean was rolling his hips again and sliding one hand down to pull at Sam’s belt and Sam really started to panic. It didn’t seem to matter to Mr. Hyde that Sam was his brother, and a male. Dean was going to rape him.

Dean wouldn’t remember, right? He wouldn’t, right?

Dean’s new claws must have been implausibly sharp because Sam heard their belts snap and their jeans rip. Then Dean settled his hips down again and sighed in Sam’s ear as their two private zones settled together too.

Sam couldn’t help trying to shift away, but he might as well have been pinned down by iron. Dean’s new strength made it no contest. Even one handed the werewolf was easily holding Sam’s arms pinned.

Then Dean started rutting again and any strength Sam had seemed to drain out of him. It was hot and wrong but apparently Sam’s body was just as indiscriminate as Dean’s new one because he was starting to react and couldn’t do a thing about it.

Still, Sam manically rationalized, compared to his long history of traumas being molested was pretty mild. Dean's actions and his own reactions were out of his control. If he wasn’t so terrified of where Dean might shove the monstrous thing next this really wouldn’t be that bad.

How long did full moons last anyway? Sam knew he knew the answer but couldn’t remember it right then.

Dean licked Sam’s ear again, knocking Sam out of his mental stupor and back into the moment. Dean kept licking and rutting and Sam felt like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air in his lungs. Each exhale was coming out with a small gasp and he could feel his heartbeat in his dick as it slowly hardened under the assault.

Then Dean shifted his hips again and Sam switched from mental fortification to stunned confusion. Was there something… wet… down there?

Sam lifted his head as high as he could to try and see what was happening. Dean had shifted his hips forward and seemed to be rubbing his ass against Sam’s cock now, his pants in shreds around them. Except it couldn’t just be his ass because Sam could feel and hear something wet sliding up and down his length.

God he could smell it too, he realized. Something musty and salty, something that nearly enveloped his cock as it rubbed up and down. It had been months, maybe years since Sam had felt that, but he recognized it instantly.

But no, it couldn’t be. Could it? Teeth and claws and eyes were one thing, but the private bits? Wouldn’t he know if–have heard if werewolf transformations changed–changed-

Dean sat up suddenly, supposedly to get a better angle, his legs spread wide over Sam’s hips and Sam got his first look at what he was dealing with.

“What… what the hell?”

Dean’s cock was hard and long and probably the same size it had been before... but his balls weren’t there. Instead, the dick was poking out of the top of new, familiar looking folds, slick with a clear fluid and pressed up against the side of Sam’s own member. Dean rubbed his new genetalia up and down Sam’s length and moaned.

A pussy. Dean had a cock… and a pussy.

Hermaphrodite.

Suddenly Sam remembered something from years ago, a lifetime ago in the Bunker. Sam and Dean searching their archives for something, anything on the Mark of Cain, and Dean finding another book instead.

_“You think these eggheads with all the crap they amassed over the years would have actually collected something important. Ah, here – 'He-wolf, She-wolf: A Study in Werewolf Transgenderism.' Six hundred pages, volume one. But something important like, I don't know, maybe the oldest symbol known to man – that's not worth their time. It's not weird enough.”_

Six hundred pages. It had been so weird that even Sam hadn’t been tempted to read it. Now it seemed he should have made the time.

Dean moaned again and rutted down harder, and Sam could feel Dean’s new hole catching at his tip as his own unruly dick betrayed him and started rising up away from his body.

God, did it matter that they were brothers? They weren’t even the same species anymore, right?

Justifying. He was justifying.

Sam pulled at his hands again. And, surprise, Dean let them go, moving his clawed hands down to Sam’s chest instead, bracing himself as he picked up the speed of his rut. Sam hissed and gasped and told himself to throw Dean off of him because it was the right thing to do but ended up gripping his brother’s thighs instead and involuntarily pushing up into Dean’s ministrations. Dean moaned in reply and kneaded his claws in Sam’s shirt, the tips barely scraping down Sam’s chest and causing his nipples to tighten and goosebumps to roll up his arms. He shivered.

Dean’s yellow eyes were focused on Sam’s as he slowly, deliberately maneuvered his hips up and over and suddenly the head of Sam’s cock was–inside–something warm and soft. Sam gasped, and his toes curled inside his steel-toed boots as his legs seized up. “Dean…”

Dean lowered himself slowly, pumping minutely up and down as he worked Sam’s member deeper inside him. Sam gripped Dean’s thighs tighter without any effect on the werewolf. He had no control over what was happening. He just had to lay there and take it.

Or give it, really.

Sam moaned as Dean bottomed out and he could feel the head of his cock pushed up against the back of Dean’s pussy, pressed up against his cervix. Dean was panting over him, shifting his hips and moving the angle slightly, slightly…

Sam moaned again. “Dea- _hah_ \- Dean… Dean you’re killing me!” He couldn’t catch his breath.

Dean bared his teeth and grinned at Sam, then lifted his hips… and slammed back down.

Sam gasped and his hips stuttered upward, pushing in, out, in. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to stop. “Dean, please-”

Dean got his knees and toes under himself, then started up his rut again. Small, forceful thrusts down, slower, careful pulls up, the walls of his new insides gripping Sam so tight he felt like he was wrapped in hot, wet silk. Sam’s hips started pumping again and he couldn’t stop. The slide was so perfect, so deep and perfect. It had been so long he honestly couldn’t remember if it always felt this good or if this was… special. He groaned, long and loud, and prayed no one was close enough to hear him.

To hear them. Dean’s panting had turned into animalistic moans, small whimpers he let out with each breath. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were unfocused. He was completely engrossed in his rutting, riding Sam’s cock like he’d ridden Larry the mechanical bull.

Sam felt like a bull. His hips were bucking up and down in sync with his brother's bouncing. His groin was on fire. He was going to lose it. How the hell was Dean doing this? He was a virgin at this, right? How the hell was he so good at it? Sam was fairly certain now, this was the best ride he’d ever been given. His whole body was on fire.

Then Dean pushed down and squeezed–and Sam did lose it. “Shhhit shit- _mmm_ -” He moaned and shoved in impossible deeper and froze there, Dean resting his full weight in Sam's hips, hips that were inches off the ground as Sam shot his seed into his brother's monster womb, Dean's new lips smashed up against Sam's balls. “Deannn- _hah_ -” Sam pushed and pushed, his climax lasting longer than he could ever remember it lasting before. Slowly, weak with tremors, the whole area unclenched and tingled as Sam came back to earth, lowering his hips back to the ground with one last stuttered thrust. Dean followed it down, his legs splayed wide, his inner lining still gripping Sam's softening cock.

Sam realized belatedly that Dean must have cum at some point too. There were lines of sticky fluid on the front of Sam's shirt and girl juice was running in rivulets between Sam's legs.

Sam watched as Dean's eyes slowly blinked open, a look of such obvious bliss on his face that Sam's own pulse sped up in response. His lungs swelled with it. He grabbed the front of his big brother's canvas jacket and pulled him down on top of him, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“Alright. Okay. Good boy,” Sam said quietly, inanely.

Dean rubbed his face into Sam's neck, his contentment rumbling deep in his throat.

Was this rape? It must be. Compulsion at least. But Sam was starting to think he was the perp, not the vic.

Whatever. That could wait. He patted his brother's head and moved slowly to extricate his body out from under him. They'd get Dean tied up and wait for the moon to set and maybe only Sam would need a therapist. He wondered if he could Skype one from the bunker.

Sam got as far as rolling them both onto their sides, then Dean's arms tightened around Sam's neck and wouldn't let go. He was rubbing his face against Sam's and Sam winced at the feel of stubble. “Alright Dean, alright come on, party's over man…” Sam tried to pull away but Dean just squeezed tighter and put his nose in Sam's ear again. Then moved it down to Sam's neck and took a big inhale.

“ _Mmmm’s'mmy…_ smell so good…”

Sam startled. “Dean?”

Dean rubbed his forehead on Sam's neck and started shifting his hips again.

“Nononono Dean, no more of that – you gotta wake up man, you're losing it!”

The shifting stopped but Dean remained silent.

“Dean?”

Well maybe not totally silent. He was still making a small noise. Sam had to lift his head clear to distinguish it.

Snoring. Seriously?

\---

Dean wouldn't let go, even while sleeping, and manhandled Sam onto the bed at some point. Sam figured they still had another six hours or so before the moon set. Dean's new private bits had their own ideas of what they'd be doing to fill the time, and Sam was sure each time the next one would kill him. It wasn't long before he was half dead on that warm bed, unable to do more than make lewd noises and kiss his brother back while the werewolf got its fill.

There were a few tricky moments when Sam was worried the beast’s teeth scraping his body might give in to a different reproductive instinct, but each time he'd see a bit more clarity in Dean's eyes as he seemed to force himself to pull away.

And if Sam did finally see the shackles down the side of the bed while leaning forward to give Dean a reach around, well… he had his brother handled already, so what was the point?

\---

Sam was pretty sure Dean had forgotten the whole night. His brother woke up the next morning chipper and optimistic … like he usually did after getting laid, though Sam would take that little insight to his hunter’s pire. But from the looks of barely contained mirth he got from Claire, and Mick's refusal to look any of them in the eye, he was pretty sure they'd witnessed something.

The cure wasn't a cake walk, but it did work. Sam had tried to stop Dean from taking it, but when Dean saw the trashed motel room and his brother covered in scratches he'd injected it right away.

Dean survived. Mick had called him ‘a walking miracle’ but Sam knew that about Dean already.

Whatever. A full-blooded-human Dean drove them home to Kansas. Sam was taking the win.

\---

Dean walked into the archives where Sam was lounging on one of the wooden benches. Dean winced in Sam's direction. “You're actually reading that?”

Sam looked up at Dean overtop _‘He-wolf, She-wolf: A Study in Werewolf Transgenderism’_ with a perfectly innocent face. “It's in the archives. I'm just doing my due diligence.”

Dean snorted. “Due diligence, right… you get off on this stuff.”

“Stuff?” Sam asked, heart rate picking up.

“Research. Keep it right next to your Lubriderm.”

It was Sam's turn to make a face. “Dean-”

“Yeah yeah whatever.”

Dean went looking around the shelves and Sam lost track of him until he plopped down on the bench right next to Sam. Like, right next to him, shoulders touching.

“Dude-”

“See this is what real recreational reading looks like, Sam.” Dean held up what he was holding: a yellowing Flash Gordon comic. Then he snuggled–honest to god snuggled–his way under Sam's arm and into Sam's side and relaxed.

Sam didn't. “Uuuh Dean?”

Dean didn't seem to notice. “Smells good in here,” he commented, then opened his comic.


End file.
